Chapter 34: The Blurred Line

Victor's photograph remained in my hands long after Damien left my office.

Six months.

Eleanor had met Richard Hawthorne six months before Damien ever walked into my jewelry exhibition.

That meant my marriage hadn't simply been encouraged.

It might have been arranged.

The office suddenly felt much smaller.

I locked the photograph inside my desk drawer before anyone else could see it.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in."

Lena stepped inside carrying a stack of contracts.

"The suppliers have approved every renewal," she said.

"Verline officially resumes production next Monday."

"Good."

"There's one more thing."

"Several of your former designers want to come back."

I smiled for the first time that morning.

"Tell them the doors are open."

"Welcome them home."

"I already did," Lena laughed.

"They've been waiting for you."

After she left, I looked around my office.

The walls no longer reminded me of what I had lost.

They reminded me of what I was rebuilding.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

"Mrs. Ashford," a man's voice said.

"This is Detective Rowan Pierce."

The name sounded familiar.

Then I remembered.

He had been a junior officer at Nathaniel's accident scene.

"Detective."

"I'm sorry to disturb you."

"I believe we should meet."

"About my brother?"

"Yes."

"Can you come now?"

An hour later I arrived at a quiet riverside café.

Rowan Pierce already occupied a corner table.

He looked older than I remembered.

Grey had begun creeping into his hair.

"Mrs. Ashford."

"Thank you for coming."

"You said this concerns Nathaniel."

"It does."

He slid a thin file across the table.

"Three years ago I wasn't allowed to continue investigating the accident."

"Why not?"

"Orders from above."

"The case was ruled accidental within twenty-four hours."

"Too quickly."

"Exactly."

"I disagreed."

"So I kept copies."

I opened the file.

Photographs.

Road measurements.

Brake analysis.

Witness statements.

One page immediately caught my attention.

Vehicle Position Report.

"This wasn't included in the official file," I said.

"No."

"Someone removed it."

"Why?"

"Because according to this report... your brother's car never crossed into the opposite lane."

I looked up sharply.

"What?"

"The official report claimed Nathaniel lost control."

"These measurements prove something else happened."

"His vehicle was pushed."

Silence settled over the café.

"Can you prove it?"

"Not anymore."

"Most physical evidence disappeared years ago."

"Then why tell me now?"

"Because someone reopened the chain of custody last week."

"Who?"

"Ashford Holdings' legal department."

My heartbeat slowed.

"Damien?"

"I don't know."

"Only someone connected to Ashford requested access."

"Did they receive it?"

"No."

"The evidence locker was already empty."

"Empty?"

"Every original photograph vanished two years ago."

Someone had been cleaning the trail.

Long before I discovered Nathaniel's files.

"Detective..."

"Do you believe my brother was murdered?"

Rowan didn't answer immediately.

"I believe accidents don't erase evidence by themselves."

"People do."

He reached into his coat pocket.

"There's one last thing."

He placed a small transparent evidence bag on the table.

Inside rested a fragment of black automotive paint.

"This was found embedded in your brother's rear bumper."

"Different manufacturer."

"Different vehicle."

"It never appeared in the final report."

"Can it be identified?"

"Possibly."

"If we find the car."

"After three years?"

"Cars disappear."

"Paint doesn't."

"Keep it," he said.

"It belongs with the truth."

When I left the café, rain had begun falling.

I tucked the evidence bag safely into my handbag.

Across the street, a familiar black SUV waited.

Damien.

He stepped out before I reached the pavement.

"You've started following me now?"

"No."

"I came because we need to talk."

"About Eleanor?"

"About us."

"There is no us."

"There used to be."

"Before lies."

"Before assumptions."

"Before Colette."

He lowered his eyes.

"I dismissed her this morning."

I stopped walking.

"You what?"

"She no longer works for Ashford Holdings."

"Why?"

"Because I finally checked her phone records."

"And?"

"She wasn't speaking only to reporters."

"She made more than sixty calls to an unregistered number over the past year."

"Do you know whose number it is?"

"Not yet."

"But whoever it belongs to knew everything happening inside our house."

My grip tightened around my handbag.

"You're beginning to believe me."

"I'm beginning to believe I never asked enough questions."

"There's a difference."

"Yes."

"Three years too late."

He accepted that without argument.

"Maybe."

"But I'm asking now."

"Who did you meet today?"

"A detective."

"About Nathaniel."

"What did he tell you?"

"That someone pushed my brother's car."

Damien's face lost all colour.

"What?"

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because..."

He stopped himself.

"Because what?"

"Because that's not what I was told."

"Who told you?"

He didn't answer.

"Damien."

"Who?"

He looked straight into my eyes.

For the first time since we married...

Fear outweighed pride.

"My father."

"The night Nathaniel died..."

"He told me the accident wasn't an accident."

"He told me never to ask why."

Rain continued falling between us.

The line separating enemy from ally had never felt more blurred.

Because for the first time...

I couldn't tell whether Damien had been protecting the truth...

Or hiding from it.